


Our Universe Was Clothed in Light

by sacredheart (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry is a jock, High School AU, It's an American High School AU, M/M, Theater Kid Louis, and there's a lot of pining and football games and, basically louis thinks harry is overrated and harry thinks louis is PRETTY, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis is a theater nerd, pining!Harry, rehearsals for the school play, there will be some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sacredheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harry Styles. He is the poster child of the American Dream... A household name in this tiny, nowhere town. The boy lives like a legend in the halls of the high school, adored and cherished by all. There’s absolutely no reason to hate him… Which only makes Louis despise him more."</p><p>Or, Harry is a jock head over heels for Louis, whose only true love is the theatre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for Olivia and Karissa. Olivia's the one that wanted this, but Karissa would kick my ass if I left her out of my dedications. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with One Direction, I am not making any money from this story, and this is totally and completely fictional. 
> 
> My title is from Sun by Sleeping at Last! :) My tumblr is sacredhrt.

_“Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” - Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare_

 ~

“Run it again. You’re not giving the words enough _emphasis_ , Zayn,” Mr. Curtis groans. His voice is beginning to drawl with exhaustion. At this time of night, towards the end of the rehearsal, he loses his frustrated snaps and starts to lean towards half-assed criticisms. 

Louis glances at the dark haired boy from across the stage. He knows Zayn well enough that he can probably predict what’s going on in his best friend’s head. Most likely, it’s along the lines of: 

_Nothing is theatrical enough for you; you dramatic, overly flamboyant cornball._

Zayn only nods, though, with his lips pressed together into a tight line, and returns his attention to Louis. He isn’t Zayn anymore, but Brutus. With a bit more zest, he bellows his words out across the empty auditorium, 

_“Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager, than to repute himself a son of Rome under these hard conditions as this time is like to lay upon us.”_

There is a silence in the room, as the other cast members look up at them from their seats below the stage. Louis is impressed with the sincerity of Zayn’s delivery, but his thoughts are interrupted by the booming voice of their teacher.

“Well. It wasn’t _awful_. But we’ll improve on this monstrosity of a scene tomorrow. You’re all dismissed.” The director waves his hand lazily through the air, and Zayn narrows his eyes as though he’s about to jump off the stage to tackle him. Nonetheless, everyone else is sighing with relief upon hearing their permission to leave.

Louis tucks the script underneath his arm, and disappears backstage. He loves the feeling he gets when he’s in the underbelly of the school’s production. There is a dusty, comfortable air in the cramped spaces, full of lighting equipment and half-painted sets. 

People that are just as passionate about the arts as he is are always scrambling to and fro, talking into headsets in their ears or hastily pinning curls of hair up and away from their faces. 

They lean against walls, reading over lines under hushed breaths, and Louis can _feel_ the build up of creativity smothered into the walls. The place reeks of past musicals, plays, and productions. He bathes in the idea of it all. 

Louis moves himself towards the dressing rooms, where he’d left his backpack. He has to sideways-squeeze past a girl, and make a few lefts before he’s pushing through a door and physically bumping into Zayn.

“Oh, hey-“

“Mr. Curtis is an ass, you know that? It's ridiculous, having us do Shakespeare… Like that _totally_ won’t bore the entire audience to actual tears.” Zayn is rolling his eyes and talking a mile a minute. He’s bustling about the room, stuffing his belongings into his backpack and scowling under his breath. “I mean, I know it’s a classic, but _come on_.” 

Louis stifles his laugh, and throws his own bag over his shoulder. 

“I think you’re just upset because he put you on blast today.”

“Excuse me?” Zayn is laughing now, eyes bright and teeth gleaming from between his curled lips. “How _dare_ you accuse me of being too dramatic.” 

“We should get Mr. Curtis in here to see this, it’s exactly what he wanted,” Louis mumbles slyly, and Zayn pushes his shoulder roughly. 

“I hate you… But I’ll give you a ride home if you need it.” 

“I do need it. You mind?”

“Course not. C’mon, I’m parked by the football field.”

~

Outside, the autumn air nips at the tips of their noses, encouraging the boys to wrap themselves further into their jackets and curl their hands into tight fists. 

There’s cheering going on in the distance, and Louis lifts his head to see the lights of the football field and a crowd of cheering students in the bleachers. He can hear the band playing, as well. 

_People actually drag themselves into the freezing cold to watch these games?_

“Do you wanna catch the last half?” Zayn asks with a raised brow and a small shrug from behind his scarf. Louis grimaces. He hates the overrated fame the football players receive. 

They’re blown up to superhero status at this high school. They walk through the halls like Greek gods, chiseled and tanned and stuffed full of inflated egos. 

And really, what is it that they do to deserve such attention? Throw an oddly shaped ball and run into a large rectangle for points? Anyone could do that. Even Louis.

Okay.

Maybe not Louis. But, still. There isn’t nearly enough dedication and practice going into football as there is into something as beautiful as the theatre. But does he see such enthusiasm at the school productions? Of course not.

Alright, perhaps he’s being a bit bitter. 

“Fine. Let’s check it out.”

They change direction, heels spinning enough to start them towards all the commotion on the other side of the parking lot. Under the streetlights, their feet hit the black pavement in synchronized movements.

As they get closer, the announcements become clearer and easier to comprehend.

“ _Another_ beautiful pass by Harry Styles, ladies and gentlemen. The boy has quite the arm, I have to say. That could have been a touchdown had the home team’s blocking been more tight.”

_Harry Styles_. He is the poster child of the American Dream. He’s a household name in this tiny, nowhere town. The boy lives like a legend in the halls of the high school, adored and cherished by all. There’s absolutely no reason to hate him… Which only makes Louis despise him more.

They make it to the bleachers, and the lights nearly blind Louis. The entire field is lit up, and the crowd is on its feet. He now understands why - their school is winning by seven points, and there’s only one quarter to go.

Zayn takes the lead, and the two of them worm their way through the tightly packed stands until they make it to an empty spot. Louis’s eyes find their way to the quarterback, aforementioned Harry Styles.

The tall boy moves back, his muscled arm poised to make a throw. Curls stick out from underneath his helmet, and his taut legs are slightly bent in an athletic stance.

Okay. Harry is a little bit cute. Sort of. Maybe. 

Harry thrusts his arm forward, biceps flexing, entire body curling like some sort of statue cut from marble. He is all sharp angles and tight lines.

Alright, maybe he’s the most beautiful creature Louis has ever seen in his seventeen years of existence on this planet. But that’s neither here nor there… He’s still overrated.

Louis’s body is nudged as people throw their hands into the air to pump their fists and cheer. The cheerleaders on the sidelines move into their next cheer, which involves a stunt. They’re doing flips and tossing each other into the air, and the band begins to play. 

Louis glances at the clock. Two minutes left until the game ends. 

Harry pulls a towel from its place tucked into the side of his pants, and wipes his face with it. He stuffs it back where it was, and waits for the center to call a huddle. The boys, all in their navy blue uniforms, stalk into the circle. 

Louis sees that they all look to Harry for direction, whose voice can’t be heard from this far away. His facial expression is unreadable behind the damn helmet, but his big hands are making gestures as he shifts his weight from one hip to another.

They do a running play this time, and Harry passes the ball easily into another player’s grasp. He weaves between defenders until he’s got a clear passage to the end zone, and the crowd is in hysterics. 

Screeches of joy ring through Louis’s ears, and even _Zayn_ is jumping up and down as the running back crosses the line for a touchdown. The cheerleaders erupt into celebratory jumps, and the game is decidedly over. 

The entire football team runs into a gigantic mush of teenage boys jumping into each other’s bodies. Most of them clap Harry on the back, or slap his butt, or pat his shoulder. 

And as the curly haired boy slowly removes his helmet to shake out his drenched hair and take a deep breath, the crowd roars even louder. 

This boy is even more of a star than Louis had originally predicted, considering he’s never actually attended one of these games. His absence has been a mix of rehearsals getting in the way, and an overall lack of interest.

As people begin to flood towards the parking lot, buzzing with excitement and relief, Zayn places his hand on Louis’s shoulder and leans in enough that they’ll hear each other.

“I’ve gotta find the portable toilet. I’ll meet you at the car.”

“Sure, yeah.” 

Louis slowly makes his way down the steps, behind a line of shuffling people. When his shoes finally hit the grass, he shoves his hands into his pockets and moves with purpose.

The thing is, he hates big crowds. They overwhelm and suffocate him, so he’s moving a bit recklessly. He just needs to get to Zayn’s car, and out of the loud atmosphere as quickly as possible.

He isn’t looking where he’s going though, when he slams into another body. It doesn’t feel like flesh though, and he realizes his face has just collided with the rough material of someone’s chest pads.

“Sorry mate, wasn’t paying attention,” Louis mutters, rubbing at his forehead. He glances up, and realizes who it is that he’s crossed paths with. It’s a sweat drenched Harry Styles, raising an amused brow at him.

“’S alright.” The football player gives him a once over, lips parted.“You enjoy the game, Pretty?” 

“ _Pretty_?”

“Sorry, was that lame?” Harry laughs breathlessly and shrugs. “I’m not too good at being smooth when my muscles ache and I’m utterly exhausted.”

“I’m sure that’s what it is,” Louis scoffs, turning to move in the opposite direction. He feels himself blushing, but chews on his lip hard enough to bleed in an attempt to suppress the feeling.

Like hell he’s going to let some superstar jock turn him into a pile of mush.

The pavement looks nice against his white sneakers, and he watches his steps for a few paces. He can hear the chatter of students all around him, a comforting warmth despite the frigid and unforgiving October winds.

Zayn meets him at the car within five minutes, and they climb into the worn seats. His friend fumbles with the keys, desperate to get the engine running. 

Louis buckles his seat belt, and relaxes when the vents start feeding hot air towards him. 

The light reflects off of Zayn’s jaw as the dark haired driver pulls out of their parking spot. The golden glow from the street lamps makes the two of them look like soft caramel, and Louis smiles to himself. 

He watches blurred lights pass above them through the windshield the whole way home, and if Harry Styles crosses his mind more than once, no one needs to know.

~

Monday morning, Harry is leaning his left shoulder against a locker and scratching the side of his face as he listens to Liam incessantly go on about how last night’s episode of _Dancing With the Stars_ ****went. Truth be told, Harry didn’t even know that people still pay attention to that show, period.

“And I was thinking, this girl is obviously getting pity points because she’s _eighty_ years old, right? So-“ 

He stops listening to Liam when the _definition_ of beauty rounds the corner into the science wing, books hugged against a sweater-clothed chest. The sleeves are just a little too long, and the boy reaches up to brush some fringe from his eyes as he listens to Zayn Malik speak to him.

It’s the boy from last night, the one that nearly made Harry _faint on sight_ , and suddenly, his legs are wobbly. He blinks once, twice, and tries his best to peel his stare from this fucking _pixie._ Where the hell did he even _come_ from?

Zayn Malik, a theater nerd who only really speaks up in English class, runs a hand through the pretty boy’s hair as a form of silent farewell, and steps into a classroom. Harry narrows his eyes, and feels as though he’s just been vaccinated with a dosage of jealousy. _He_ wants to run his fingers through that hair. 

Pretty Boy opens a locker with a few twists of the lock, and shoves some books into it. He then pulls a textbook out of the container, and Harry is going to explode. He’s never had such little self control in his life.

Without so much as a “excuse me for a minute” to Liam, he bounds towards Pretty Boy. He hasn't the slightest clue as to what he’s doing.

The stranger doesn’t notice his presence behind him, so Harry lightly taps his shoulder. The boy jumps, and whips his head around to face the intruder… And that’s it. Harry is done for. 

What’s he supposed to say when these long eyelashes and sharp cheekbones are choking the air out of his lungs? 

“Oh, it’s you,” the boy breathes out, in an almost _tired_ way. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Harry says with an awkward half smile. “My name’s Harry, and I’m afraid we didn’t properly meet last night.” He scratches the back of his neck, and Pretty Boy only raises a cautious eyebrow at him.

“So?”

“So…” Fuck. _Words,_ dammit. _Use words._ “..So can I have your name so I can stop calling you ‘Pretty Boy’ in my head?”

Did he actually just say that? Out loud? Harry’s going to kick his own ass as soon as this interaction is over.

Pretty Boy’s eyes widen tenfold, and he exhales rather loudly. His response is delayed, and the time in between is full of blinks and deep breaths.

“It’s Louis. Bye.”

He leaves, and Harry lets the name 'Louis' make a home inside his heart. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to thank everyone for all of the positive feedback i've gotten from the first chapter! 
> 
> apologizes in advance for any typos, i'm not too good at editing (as in, i don't edit).

The cafeteria is always a disastrous cluster of students. It’s not nearly big enough to hold the amount of people who occupy its walls. This is exactly why Louis always drags Zayn down to the lunch hall fifteen minutes early, to assure a table beside the western windows. 

The large glass panes stretch from the ceiling to the floor, and give a glorious view of the school’s courtyard. These seats are easily the most wanted, and it’s a fight every day to race for them. 

Zayn couldn’t give two shits where he ends up eating his lunch, so long that his lunch is there and ready to be devoured. Louis, however, can’t stand feeling surrounded by obnoxious peers from all angles. His distaste for crowds always draws him to the corners of densely packed rooms. 

Besides, the light filtering in through the windows and splashing itself across his skin is really good for the “child of the sun” aesthetic he’s going for. He knows damn well that the table’s position in front of the glass puts a golden lining around his silhouette, and these kind of things are extremely important.

“You know, even for a _theatre kid_ , you’re extremely obsessed with your image,” Zayn half-smirks at Louis and waves his plastic fork in the other boy’s direction. “I can’t believe you drag me out of study hall early _every_ damn day so that you can look _pretty_ while you eat your lunch.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“You know it’s more than that. I can’t stand crowds. We’re more secluded, this way.” At this, Zayn raises a skeptical brow and looks back down at his food.

“You seem pretty attention-hungry for someone who hates a crowd, if you ask me,” he mutters out, half laughing and half scowling. Louis lets his jaw drop in mock horror, and throws the crust of his sandwich at Zayn’s face. 

“What is it, National Read Louis Day?” 

His friend shrugs lazily, a smug grin spreading across his lips. It’s as if they’re floating along a current. Sometimes Louis thinks this is why they get along so well - the two of them are never out of tune.

Before they can continue this conversation, a lanky blonde is stumbling across the cafeteria towards them, fumbling about with a gigantic tripod. He looks like he’s about to drop it any second. It slips and slides against his chest, and he tilts his head back as he walks to keep the equipment from hitting his face.

“Hello lads,” he chirps as he begins to set the stand up in front of their lunch table. Zayn raises a questioning brow, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Mind if I take a picture of you for my photography class? I’m doing an article about… Get _this_ , ‘Teens Caught in Typical Life;. No poses, no modeling. Just normal behaviors captured in time… Like eating, for instance.” He says it like it’s the most brilliant concept ever introduced into the world, eyes shining and gaze distant. 

Zayn’s eyes drift towards Louis’s direction. His face is nothing but the silent expression, 

_Is this kid serious?_ They must be communicating with facial cues for too long, because the blonde boy coughs awkwardly. Louis blinks a few times, and returns his attention to the stranger. 

“I mean, sure, you can take a picture of us. But can I ask why you chose _us_ in particular? And why you’re carrying around a tripod instead of just the camera itself?” 

The blonde smiles happily, and begins angling his shot. 

“If I’m honest, the lighting just looked really nice here. You,” he points to Louis. “Had this sort of glow around you, and I thought it’d make a lovely shot.” 

Upon hearing this, Zayn groans and slams his forehead into the table one time. Of _course_ Niall was attracted to Louis’s golden radiance. The brunette smiles from ear to ear at his best friend’s mock displeasure (as if Zayn isn’t as appearance conscious as he is, honestly). 

“Anyway, I’m Niall,” the blonde tucks his face behind the camera and puts his hands into position. “And as for the tripod question, my hands are a little shaky and I prefer to have something to steady me. But. Anyway, I know it seems awkward, but please just continue eating as if I’m not here and I’ll be out of your hair.” 

They do their best to go back to their original state, and Niall snaps a few shots before he thanks them multiple times and heads out of the cafeteria with a bounce in his step.

“What a character,” Zayn snorts as he takes a sip of his water. Louis shrugs, and lets his eyes scan the crowded cafeteria. 

“I kinda liked ‘im.” His movement stops when his eyes lock onto _Harry’s_ , of all people. If it were anyone else, he’d quickly look away and act as thought that awkward interaction hadn’t happened. But it’s as though he’s trapped, and they sit like that for a moment, trapped in each other’s stares.

And, of course, as if Louis’s luck isn’t shit enough, Harry has to get up from his seat and saunter over to them in his ( _stupid_ and definitely not cute) blue varsity jacket. 

When he gets close enough that he’s within hearing range, Louis doesn’t know what to do or say other than something insulting.

“Everyone knows you’re the quarterback of the team,” he scoffs. Harry stops short, both brows raised and lips pursed into the smallest, most irritatingly amused smirk. “No need to keep reminding us.” Harry’s smirk melts into a warm smile, and he plants himself down at the table as if he belongs there. As if he was _invited_. 

Zayn chews his food more slowly, silent and analytical. His eyes dart quickly between the two boys in front of him, sitting side by side. Did he miss something? Do they even _know_ each other?

“It’s Friday,” Harry explains in his ridiculously deep voice. “And the game is on Saturday. All the players have to wear their jackets today.” His excuse is acceptable, but Louis rolls his eyes anyway. 

“Corny, if you ask me,” he mutters with a mouth full of food and his eyes focused on the courtyard outside. Harry doesn’t skip a beat. 

“I didn’t ask you,” he shrugs, leaning back a little bit. Zayn snorts, and Louis shoots his best friend the dirtiest of looks. Zayn is supposed to be on _his_ side. “But what I _will_ ask you is to go on a date with me.” 

Louis chokes on his sandwich, and Harry has to clap him on the back before he can gather himself enough to answer. When he opens his mouth to speak, he’s silenced by the bat of Harry’s dark, thick eyelashes. 

Maybe Louis does understand why students lose their sanity over this boy.

“No,” he says finally. “So you can go collect your five dollars now from whoever bet you that you wouldn’t ask out a theatre nerd.”

The bell rings, _Thank God,_ and Louis stands up to slide his arms into both backpack straps, while collecting his garbage into one hand to toss out on his way to Chemistry. 

Zayn, who clearly wanted nothing more to do with this awkward situation, has long fled the scene, and now he’s stuck with a jock who seems intent on embarrassing him.

“That’s not-“ Harry walks quickly to catch up to Louis, curls bouncing in time with his quick strides as they weave between people. The shorter boy doesn’t even bother trying to make eye contact. He just wants to get away, honestly. “That’s not what this is. I’m genuinely asking you out.”

Louis stops dead in his tracks and spins around to face the football player. Harry, in turn, stills his steps. 

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘Why’? I’d like to get to know you better.” 

“You don’t know me at all,” Louis snaps, eyes narrowed.

“That’s the point. We go out to eat, you tell me about yourself, and I charm you with my good looks and gentlemanly behavior.”

“Is that what you think is going to happen?” Louis accidentally lets himself laugh, and Harry feeds off of it. He leans closer, smiling widely, teeth and all. 

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen,” he promises. 

“It isn’t, though,” Louis sighs, as people scurry out of the cafeteria all around them. He’s starting to feel suffocated by the situation. “You’re going to be confident that you can charm me, because all of you football players think you’re much more capable than you actually are. But I won’t be impressed by the number of completions you’ve made this year, like you think I should be. And at the same time, you won’t give a damn about my role in the fall play, and we’ll find that we truly have nothing in common, as I originally predicted.” 

He hopes that near soliloquy will be enough to silence him, and turns to leave. Deep breaths fill his lungs as Louis attempts remain calm in the chaotic crowd. He hasn’t made it more than ten feet, though, before he feels a gentle arm on his shoulder. He keeps walking, but Harry keeps in step with him. 

“You’re very pessimistic, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term ‘realistic’, but okay.”

“What makes you so sure we’ll hate this date?”

“Because I already don’t like you, if I can be honest.”

“Oh, what? You’re bitter because the football team gets more attention than the drama department does? Because that’s a very immature reason to hold a grudge against a stranger, Louis.” 

“That is _not-“_

“It is that, though.” They exit the cafeteria and move quickly down the hall, side by side. “You think I’m some sort of villain because I get the credit that you want. My interest is more popular than yours, and therefore, I am your competition and your enemy, right? And somehow, because I participate in something that _you personally_ find overrated, _I_ am somehow overrated and worthy of your distaste, no?”

And, wow. It really is National Read Louis Day. 

“Okay, now I hate you even more,” is all he manages to say through his clenched teeth. Harry giggles, though, surprisingly enough.

“I’ll see you on our date.” He leans down to peck the smallest kiss onto Louis’s cheek, and turns his body to the right to move into the English hall.

“There won’t be a date!” Louis calls after him, but it’s a weak attempt. Even he can hear the strained lie in his voice. 

~

Rehearsal is especially awful, today. The boy playing Cassius is out with the flu, and therefore some timid freshman has to read the boy’s lines in his place. Louis couldn’t get his mind off of Harry, and the director was in an even worse mood. 

All in all, the entire night is a tragedy… And that’s saying something for a group of people performing one of the most famous tragedies of all time. 

Louis is pretty sure that he looks as though he’s aged three years by the time he and Zayn are leaving the auditorium through it’s main doors. 

“You up for some coffee before I take you home?” The dark haired boy asks with a yawn in the middle of his sentence. Louis only hums. They shuffle through the empty school lobby with bleary eyes, their bodies wrapped up in old and ragged sweatshirts that they keep backstage for late nights like these.

The crawl to the car is pretty silent, aside from some small sighs and comments underneath the street lights that offer perfect, soft circles of clarity in the darkness. 

Louis clambers into Zayn’s passenger seat and burrows himself into the soft leather against his back. Zayn pulls out of the parking lot and turns his headlights on.

“Can we listen to _Les Mis_?” Louis asks, with a bat of his eyelashes that Zayn can’t even see but probably knows is there anyway.

Zayn lets out an exaggerated and exasperated sigh, but reaches over to flick on the radio. He then changes the dial so it’s playing the CD soundtrack that Louis had somehow slipped into his car, and his passenger squeaks with excitement (despite the fact that they’re never _not_ listening to _Les Mis)._  


When Louis sees Zayn rolling his eyes out of the corner of his eyes, he scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“As if you don’t listen to this when I’m not in the car.”

Instead of admitting to it, Zayn belts out the lyrics alongside the broadways singers, perfectly in tune, and without missing a note… Clearly well practiced.

Louis bursts into a fit of laughter, but it’s interrupted by Zayn’s sudden question.

“You wanna tell me why Harry Styles asked you on a date? Have you been talking to him or something?”

“No, I am just as surprised as you are,” Louis admits, as he turns down the music.

“Okay, I seriously doubt that’s true,” Zayn says pointedly whilst turning on his left blinker at the same time.

“Alright. He might have introduced himself to me at the game and called me ‘Pretty’. But that’s it. I don’t know what he was talking about.”

Zayn is quiet for a moment.

“I didn’t even know he’s into boys, to be honest.”

“I didn’t either. I guess I just assumed…?”

“Because he’s a jock? Yeah, me too,” Zayn hums. “Guess we shouldn’t be thinking so stereotypically. But then again, you’re a flamboyant gay who is obsessed with the theatre, and I’m a hipster book nerd with a lousy attitude and an obsession with coffee. Hate to admit it, but I think we just might reek of stereotypes.”

Zayn parallel parks against the curb. The slam of doors echoes into the night as they climb out of the car, and Louis shoves his freezing hands into his pockets.

The warmth that welcomes them as they stumble in from the cold is overwhelming. Louis has his sweatshirt strings pulled tight, and his hands are tucked underneath his sleeves. The town’s donut shop also sells fantastic coffee, and it’s run by a local family (as are most businesses in the area). 

The lighting is soft, and the furniture is comfortable. There are pastries lining the counters that run along the far back wall. Considering it’s late, there really is hardly anyone moping about… That is, except for a rowdy group of boys laughing to one another as they order their food.

“Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ,” Louis hisses, turning so that his back is facing the counter. He stares out of the glass door. Maybe if he remains facing this way, and just backs his way up the line, Harry and the rest of the football team won’t notice him.

“Wow,” Zayn is laughing, _loudly_ , mind you, and Louis is going to kill him. “Life really is full of little miracles,” he muses. “And watching you be embarrassed is one of them.”

“I am going to kick your ass,” Louis seethes out a hushed whisper from underneath his hood. He hears someone calling his name, and winces.

When he turns around, a beaming Harry is strolling towards him.

“Didn’t know we were starting our date so soon,” he jokes, a warm coffee in his hand. He isn’t in his varsity jacket anymore, but a comfortable looking gray sweatshirt and some black sweatpants. He looks so comfortable that Louis might, just possibly, want to curl up next to him.

“We aren’t. I have a date with a hot chocolate, actually.” 

“Let me buy it for you, then,” Harry offers, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. Louis, though wearily, only agrees because Zayn won’t stop pinching his side. 

And that’s how at ten thirty at night, he ends up drinking a hot chocolate next to Harry Styles while Zayn waits in the car. 

“Don’t your friends mind that you ditched them?” Louis asks, nodding his head at the table of football players joking with one another and sharing a box of donuts. Harry follows Louis’s gaze, and shakes his head.

“No, they won’t care. We’re just coming from a late practice, and they had to listen to me talk about how ridiculously gorgeous you are the entire time, so. They’re probably sick of me.” He says it like it’s a normal thing to say, so casually and unapologetically.

Louis nearly spits out his hot drink. 

“You’re really good at catching me off guard,” he admits, and Harry’s dimples poke out from behind his smile.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“I haven’t really decided yet.” There’s a pause between them, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Louis doesn’t know how to describe it to himself, but it isn’t a feeling he usually encounters. It’s nothing awkward. It’s almost sweet. “I should go. I don’t want to make Zayn wait.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll see you on our actual date.”

“There won’t be one,” Louis reminds him for the second time today. “But thanks for the hot chocolate.”

“It’s no problem,” Harry shrugs. “It’s kinda cute that you hold it with both hands, so.” And Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, so he turns and leaves before Harry catches his blush.

By the time he makes it out to the car, Zayn has finished his coffee and is listening to an album Louis has never heard of. 

His best friend starts the car by twisting the key, and Louis buckles up his seat belt.

“Speaking of stereotypes,” Zayn whispers into the former silence with a smirk. “You’ve got a crush on the quarterback of the football team.”

Louis rolls his eyes and smiles to himself until his cheeks hurt. 

“No I don’t.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! feedback is appreciated, as always.

The homecoming game, which really shouldn’t be so late into the football season, is starting in thirty minutes. Harry steps out of the locker room fully padded and prepared. 

He’s got his hair tied up in a neat bun as of right now, but he’ll have to let it loose before he puts his helmet on… There simply isn’t enough room for it to be up with all of the padding on the inside. 

Liam jogs up to him from behind, black eye paint underneath his eyes and fists clenching and relaxing over and over. He tends to do that when he’s nervous before games.

“Relax,” Harry warns him. “We’re going to be fine. Especially since coach is finally lettingPeter _play_.” 

“I know,” Liam scoffs as they make their way towards the field. The sky is a mix of amber hues and soft pinks as it melts into early evening. The stands are already packed with students, and Harry smiles to himself. “I’m so sick of him playing the veterans over and over just because they’ve been here all along. It doesn’t make them _good_. We need some of the underclassmen to start getting more plays.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, please,” Harry squirts some of the water from his plastic bottle into his mouth. He’s carrying his helmet in his other hand; fingers curled around the white face mask. “Where’d you get the paint, anyway?”

“Some of the water boys were running around with it inside,” Liam shrugs indifferently towards the door they’ve just left the building from, and scratches the back of his neck. “But anyway, is that theatre kid coming tonight?”

Harry’s cheeks flush, and he elbows Liam’s side, hard. His friend only laughs as his body is jostled to the left, and soon follows back into step. 

“Probably not. He hates football, and probably me too. I’m not sure yet.”

“No one hates you,” Liam makes a dramatic show of rolling his eyes. “When that freshman asked for your autograph last week I thought I was being pranked.” 

Harry throws his head back and laughs at the memory. 

“Alright, to be fair, that’s only happened one time.”

“Yeah, one time too many,” Liam mutters with a shake of his head. They make it to the field, blue cleats pressing into the turf. The huge lights have been flicked on, shining down on the faux grass with a brightness they’ve long grown accustomed to. 

Perfect and crisp numbered lines stretch down to the other end zone, and someone comes up from behind Harry to clap him on the back.

“You ready for our last homecoming, Cap’n?”

At this, Harry smiles with all of his teeth and nods. 

“Absolutely. Let’s make it a good on-“ His last word is cut off when from the corner of his eye, he spots a sight that makes him want to sing.

_Louis_ is here, stumbling beside a blonde boy Harry doesn’t recognize, the two of them carrying large amounts of camera equipment. Louis swerves to the left a little, clearly about to lose his balance, and Harry wants to _cry._ The sight of this beautiful boy still nearly brings tears to his infatuated eyes.

As he jogs over in Louis’s direction, their teammate gives Liam a questioning look. With an exasperated sigh, Liam explains.

“I’ve come to understand that if he ever walks away from me in the middle of a sentence, his little crush isn’t too far away.”

Meanwhile, Louis is actually going to fall over before they make it to where Niall is supposed to stand and take pictures of the game. He’s got a giant tripod in his arms, while the photographer has three different cameras tucked neatly into their cases, straps dangling from Niall’s shoulders.

Why he needs _three_ cameras, this actor will never know.

“Almost there,” Niall grunts over his shoulder. The sudden sound startles Louis, and he slips towards the right. He feels the tripod slipping from him, and yelps. 

However, it doesn’t hit the ground.

A pair of hands catches it easily, and now there is a smug looking Harry Styles, in uniform, grinning at him from ear to ear with the equipment easily scooped into his large arms. 

Well.

“Came to see me play, did you?” The boy teases. “I _knew_ you didn’t hate football.”

“I’m not here for you,” Louis tilts his nose into the air as he opens his arms out to reaccept the tripod. Harry keeps it though, and starts to follow Niall, who has failed to realize Louis is no longer behind him.

“I’ve got it,” he says softly. Louis falls into step behind him. “So if it’s not for me, why are you here, Mr. _Sports-Are-Stupid_?”

“I told Niall I’d help him out today. The school newspaper put him in charge of covering the game, so.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Harry nods, still smiling. It’s less cheeky now though, and more fond. “I’d like to stay and talk to you, but I’ve got to…” he points his thumb at the field and nods his head towards it with a small laugh.

“Right,” Louis nods, fighting back a minuscule giggle. He watches Harry take his helmet into two hands after releasing his hair from it’s tight bun. His curls fall down to the back of his neck, and he places the helmet onto his head. Once it’s fully secure, he leans down a little.

“Mind returning the favor and fastening my chin straps for me?”

“Why? You can do it yourself,” Louis snorts, but reaching his hands up nonetheless. He pulls the strap tight enough, so that the foam is resting against the bottom of the boy’s face, and clips in into the other side of the helmet. 

“Thanks, love,” Harry hums out softly, as if that’s something they just casually call each other. Louis doesn’t know what to say, or think, so he just nods with an expressionless face and walks himself over to where Niall is standing. 

“Are you dating him or something?” The blonde asks curiously, as he fastens his camera to its stand on the sidelines. Louis stuffs his hands into his sweatshirt pockets, and watches Harry walk with a confident stride to the center of the field. Kickoff is starting soon. 

“No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

“Because you two were talking and looking at each other like - you know what, never mind. Here, take this lens and put it in that bag over there please?”

Louis does as he’s told, and for once, says very little. After all, he’s only known Niall for about a week now. He can’t scare him away with his attitude, just yet. 

The cheerleaders are stretching on the sidelines, counting off in tens and then switching their positions. Their bleached white sneakers contrast against the dark grass, which looks almost black under the moonlight.

The stands, as usual, as bustling with local supporters of the team. Because it’s homecoming, the spirit is even more amped up than usual. Louis sees girls sitting throughout the bleachers, wearing the away jerseys of various team members.

Briefly, he imagines the concept of him sitting beside Zayn in this crowd, wearing Harry’s jersey and cheering with them. Immediately horrified at the idea, he shakes it from his mind and returns his focus to helping Niall organize his excessive and probably (mostly) unnecessary equipment. 

~

Throughout the course of the game, which is going phenomenally for the home team (it always does), Louis tries not to focus on Harry too much. It’s hard, though, considering he’s literally the quarterback and the most important player on the team.

He doesn’t know a ridiculous amount about American football, but because he grew up in a small town so addicted to it, there’s no way around being familiar with at least the basics.

“Damn, another first down,” Niall mutters under his breath. “You know, I heard more than a few college recruiters are coming to next week’s game to check out Styles and Payne and a few of the wide receivers.” 

“Seriously?” Louis raises a brow as he takes a sip of the hot chocolate he’d bought at half time from the snack shack. “Why didn’t they come to this one?”

“Because men in suits here for business don’t want to sit in on the rowdiest game of the season,” Niall retorts, as if it’s completely obvious. And, to his credit, it sort of is, now that Louis thinks about it.

“I didn’t know they were _that_ good,” he mutters, a little more than mildly impressed. 

“That’s because you’re about the only person in this damn place that doesn’t give a rat’s ass about football, or the team,” Niall reminds him. Louis only swats dismissively at the air as he raises the warm cup to his lips again.

For most of the night, he sits on a blanket they’d spread out on the ground and watches Niall snap action shots of running backs powering down the field. He takes pictures of Harry winding his arm back for long throws, and he zooms in for close-ups for blockers on the line.

By the time it ends, they win by fourteen points and the celebration from the bleachers behind them is deafening. Louis reaches into his backpack for some gloves, and slides them over his hands. He then rubs his palms together to warm them, and breathes slowly into the cool air.

He’s utterly exhausted, to say in the least. Niall begins to fold up the tripod, and he’s hastily packing cameras back into their cases. Louis stands up to offer some assistance, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry jogging over to him, helmet-less and drenched in sweat.

“Hey!” The curly haired boy calls out, clearly panting. He slows to a stop in front of them, and nods to Niall quickly before returning his attention to Louis. “Do you…” He seems at a loss for words suddenly, and his cheeks turn pink. “I don’t know. Do you want to hang out tonight? I know it’s eight already, but…?”

Louis, much to his own surprise, doesn’t say no. At least, not right away. He feels helpless in front of Harry’s soft eyes; his kind and pleading smile.

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” he replies, and Harry nods happily. 

“Okay! Great! Just, um, I’d give you my phone to put your number in, but it’s in the locker room with all of my stuff.” He turns to glance back at the rest of his team, retreating into the school building as car engines start and families pull out of the cramped parking lot.

“Here, put yours in mine,” Louis says quickly, pulling his mobile from his back pocket and placing it in Harry’s large palm.

Quickly, the quarterback types his contact information into the cell phone and hands it back to Louis. He flicks the tip of the smaller boy’s nose, and hums.

“See you later, Louis.”

“Yea, bye.”

Louis watches him leave; his large back and his long legs taking even longer strides. He looks down at the phone in his hands, his contact app still open.  _Of course_ Harry put all sorts of purple and pink hearts after his name.

When he finally turns around, Niall is staring at him with curious eyes and a crooked smile, three cameras draped over his shoulders.

“Let’s get home already, lover boy. You’ve got to primp yourself for your date.”

“Shut up,” Louis hisses at him. But when Niall promises to treat him to a coffee on the way home as a ‘thank you’ for the assistance tonight, Louis is a little bit more civil towards him.

~

**_Louis:_ ** _this is louis_

**_Harry:_ ** _i don’t know a louis. you got the wrong number, pal_

**_Louis:_ ** _very funny._

**_Harry:_ ** _anyway. what do u wanna do tonight?_

**_Louis_ ** _: not sure. wanna just come to mine and watch a film?_

**_Harry:_ ** _…… netflix and chill?_

**_Louis:_ ** _NO._

**_Harry:_** _lol. i’ll be over once i shower n stuff. text me the address_  

Louis quickly shoots Harry his home address and tosses his phone onto his neatly made bed. He can’t stand a mess, and keeps his bedroom in completely tidy condition. The carpet is vacuumed daily; his desk is pristine, and his drawers are organized. The shirts hanging in his closet are color coded. 

Not that Harry will be seeing any of this, of course. He really doesn’t want to emphasize how much of a dork he is tonight. There are _way_ too many Broadway show posters hanging up on the walls. He’s got framed pictures of himself acting (that his mother has taken throughout the years) hanging all around. It’s just a bit embarrassing to show someone new.

He pads across the floor to pull open his dresser, and decides to replace his jeans with sweatpants. He’s already got a sweatshirt on, so he leaves it.

Perhaps if he dresses as though this isn’t really a date, Louis’s nerves will subside. 

Why is he so petrified? It’s only Harry Styles. 

_Arrogant, self-assured, overrated, unnecessarily cute, adorable, sweet… Wait._ Louis groans aloud, and throws himself onto his mattress. The entire thing gives underneath his weight and then bounces him slightly into the air after the impact.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by the comforter. He really _does_ have a crush on the captain of the football team. How disgustingly cliche.

The doorbell rings throughout the house from downstairs, and Louis repeats his previous statement, but louder this time. 

“I’ve got the door!” He shouts, loud enough for his mother to hear, as he stands up again and stumbles towards the stairs. Once he makes it to the bottom, he can realizes that the porch light is off and Harry is standing in the dark.

_Oh, Good. What an impression._ Hastily, he flicks it on and fumbles to unlock their heavy front door. Louis swings it open, and a clean and smiling Harry is standing before him. He, too, is dressed in sweatpants and a comfortable looking sweatshirt. 

In his hands, though, are a bouquet of freshly bought flowers. It’s an assortment of different kinds, and when Harry sees Louis staring at them, he shrugs.

“Can’t have a first date without flowers, can we?” He asks. Before Louis can answer, he hears a squeal coming from behind him. This voice is his mother’s.

“Oh, my!” She clasps her hands together and rests them against her chest. “Well aren’t those lovely? Thank you so much, young man!” 

Harry’s eyes flicker quickly between those of Louis and his mother, almost frozen in his spot. Louis doesn’t really understand what the problem is, but apparently, his mom does.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she laughs quietly. “You don’t have to pretend they aren’t for Louis… I, um,” she coughs. “I _know_.” 

Harry sighs, relief filling his lungs, and. Okay, Louis wants to go dig a hole in the garden and bury himself in it. 

“I’ll stop embarrassing everyone now,” his mother says. Harry tells her it was nice to meet her, and she returns the compliment before ascending back up the stairs in her robe. There’s a silence as Harry and Louis stare at one another, now that they’re alone.

Harry’s stare cracks and his lips curl into a smile. 

“Just come inside,” Louis groans, stepping aside and waving his hand as a silent welcoming. Harry steps dramatically into the foyer, and looks around. 

“It’s nice,” he hums, before toeing off his shoes. 

“I’ll, um, take the flowers,” Louis offers. Once they’re in his hands, he loudly patters into the kitchen. The cold tiles press against his bare feet, but he doesn’t mind the chill. He hears Harry following close behind. 

The kitchen has a warm, golden glow to it. It’s dimly lit and the black marble countertops look nice against the wooden cabinets. The walls are a deep orange. It’s probably Louis’s favorite room in the house. There are fresh cookies sitting on the island, and he snatches one in one hand, his other hand reaching for the scissors to snip off the delicate paper lining around the bouquet.

Louis presses his torso against the counter as he works, and he feels Harry’s shoulder press against his.

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” Louis shrugs. “You can get a movie started if you’d like. The living room’s just to the right, and I’ve told my siblings that it’s off limits tonight.”

Harry instead opens his mouth widely. Louis gets the hint, and feeds him the rest of the cookie. He watches the taller boy chew rather obnoxiously, and snorts out a laugh.

“You’re gross.”

“You’re cute,” Harry replies, a mouth full of food. Once he swallows, he leans in without warning and presses his mouth to Louis’s. 

Louis drops the scissors against the counter and instinctually leans into it, eyes closed and hands resting against Harry’s chest. He feels two warm hands pressed against his cheeks, and a soft mouth moving against his. It isn’t a hasty and forced first kiss, but a careful and gentle one. They only stay that way for a matter of seconds.

“You taste like chocolate,” Harry teases once he pulls away, face still close to Louis’s. 

“So do you,” Louis defends, as if it’s a bad thing.

They spend the next two hours eating the entire plate of cookies on the couch until their lips are sticky with chocolate and their stomachs are full. They don’t end up actually watching a movie, just some awfully produced reality television. 

The two of them make fun of it the entire time, ripping the show to shreds aloud and laughing at each other’s observations. And if both of them respectfully are secretly very entertained by reality TV shows, neither of the two mentions it.

Later that night, after Harry goes home, Louis ends up having to bake an entirely new batch of cookies at eleven o’clock, because they were originally made by Lottie for her friends and he _really_ had only intended to steal just one. 

But he doesn’t mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE !!!! forgive me! 
> 
> i hope you like this chapter :)

“We’re going to practice doing an exercise that’s going to make most of you a little, or very, uncomfortable,” Louis’s 6th period drama teacher claps his hands together as he paces the front of the room. 

His classroom has no chalkboard, but instead a make-shift raised platform towards the door that allows his students to act out any necessary scenes or scenarios. It’s one of the most cluttered and unorganized rooms in the school building; full of stacked scripts and props and outfits. The list goes on and on. 

There are no desks, only a semi-circle of chairs that curve outward so that everyone can see what’s going on when two students are performing or practicing something. 

The teacher continues. “Feigned intimacy is a necessity in the world of acting, no matter what kind of acting it may be… Musicals, plays, television shows, movies… It’s endless. And it’s no easy feat to be able to make oneself _seem_ in love with , or in the very least, attracted to, another. So we’ll be working on that today, through improvised scenes of affection and passion. I will not be choosing solely male and female pairs. I don’t know your preferences, people, and frankly, I don’t care. It’s highly likely in your time that you will act out a sexuality that you might not identify with. So keep that in mind as we do this. It’s a learning process, here. I need two volunteers.”

When he says ‘volunteers’ , he never really means it. What he means is that he is going to choose two people at random and send them to the front of the room to complete whatever task or exercise it is that he’s giving them. 

The room is silent, and the students are giving each other sideways glances. He wasn’t kidding about this being uncomfortable. 

“Zayn and Hannah first, please,” he ushers for them to stand. “Now, I obviously won’t force anyone to kiss anyone else, but it’s certainly encouraged that you work on your ability to kiss someone else and not look awkward.” He makes a strained, uncomfortable face to demonstrate, and the laughter that follows from the class eases the tension, just a little.

Louis watches Zayn’s fingers dance awkwardly against his thighs as he moves to the front of the room. Zayn, of all people, is probably the most terrified of this concept. Once they’re both up there, the girl, brunette quite the impressive actress, begins the improv. 

“You left me, Zachary, how am I supposed to forgive you for that?”

Zayn, who never fails to amaze Louis with how quickly he can melt into a character (after taking a few seconds to collect himself and figure out who this character _is_ ). 

“Can you blame me, Alyssa? I didn’t _choose_ to become an international model. I was just so beautiful… They kidnapped me and forced me into those tight fitted clothes,” he spits out. The teacher chuckles at the creativity of the response, but says nothing. Some of the students giggle.

Hannah doesn’t break a sweat, though. 

“Don’t dare try and tell me you didn’t get caught up in the fame. You could have come home at some point, Zach. I sat… _waiting_ for you. Just to find out that you’re with some European athlete…” 

“You can’t believe those rag magazines,” Zayn rolls his eyes, the interruption well timed. “I swear, you look for any reason to-“ she interrupts him back, by stepping forward and cupping his face in her hands. They kiss for a brief moment, eyes fluttered closed.

It looks almost real, except their cheeks are so pink from embarrassment that Louis almost snorts out loud. When they pull away, their audience claps. 

“Excellent. I expected nothing less from you two, though.” The teacher congratulates them as they return to their seats. He selects two boys to go next, who are both clearly straight and fumble through the entire exercise. They ease into it, though, after some encouragement and coaching from the teacher. 

Some other groups go. Boys and girls, girls and girls, boys and boys, all with different ways of handling and expressing romantic emotion.

“Louis, you haven’t gone yet, I’ve realized. How about you and Suzanne give it a go, then?” He waves them to the front of the room, and Louis takes a deep breath.

He’s kissed people on stage before. He’s not awful at it, but it’s usually with a lot of rehearsal and getting to know them first. They’re usually working together in a big musical production, and have had a lot of experience working together before.

But Suzanne? She’s a freshman, and practically a stranger. He tries to keep his breathing even.

“Have you missed me, then?” He breathes out, a small smile creeping onto his lips. He doesn’t know where he’s going with this, yet, but perhaps he’ll just play off of her response.

“Of course not,” she rolls her eyes, and Louis immediately realizes that she’s a much better actress than he originally gave her credit for. It almost looks as though she’s really flirting with him. “I don’t even like you at all.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Louis raises his brows, and the entire class is laughing along with him. 

“No,” she stands on the tips of her toes before rocking back onto her heels. “I don’t even like your cute nose or your angelic smile or sweet, blue eyes…” Her voice trails off, and her eyes fall to Louis’s lips. 

_Damn, she’s good._

~

Harry adjusts the straps on his backpack as they rest against his shoulders. The hallway is pretty empty, but he’s got a free period and he’s on his way to meet Liam in the library for a study session. 

The florescent lights beat down on him from the ceiling, and he yawns absentmindedly. He’s exhausted, but only because he spent most of last night staring at his ceiling and thinking about Louis. 

It’s terrifying, how rapidly he’s become consumed with the thought of someone. They hardly know one another, after all, and Harry feels trapped in a bubble made out of Louis’s smile alone. 

He’s never been this infatuated in his life, really. It’s both frightening and enlightening at the same time. How is he supposed to deal with this? Does he pull himself out of it before he’s too wrapped up in something that Louis thinks is doomed to fail? Or does he allow himself to give in entirely and fall into an unknown? 

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Louis’s voice drifting into the hall like a summer air pouring into the room from an open window. His eyes widen, and he takes a few hesitant steps towards the only open door in the hall.

It must be a drama class or something, because what he’s hearing sounds like acting. Cautiously, he peeks into the room. Luckily, no one seems to notice him peering in, and he can observe unquestioned.

Louis and some girl are standing at the front of the room, going back and forth in a way that makes them sound like a couple. And then they’re pulling each other in, pressing their mouths together softly and realistically. 

Louis’s eyes close in a fluttery way, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and his head tilted slightly to the side. The girl sighs into it, and Harry feels his heart rate increase.

Here’s the thing.

He knows this is just acting, but damn, Louis is a better actor than he thought he was. Watching the boy kiss someone else only reminds him of how it felt to kiss Louis in his kitchen, and his entire body is washed with an aching pain mixed with an irrational jealousy. 

_Harry_ should be the one kissing Louis right now, making him look so soft and sweet with his eyes closed and his cheeks turning pink from the kiss. 

The two people pull away, blushing and turning to their teacher to face criticisms. Harry turns to leave, and resumes walking down the hall on his way to the library.

_You’re_ _not allowed to be jealous over something as stupid as that,_ he thinks to himself. _Louis isn’t even yours._

But, God, he should be.

~

Practice is hell today. It’s pouring down on the field, which (luckily) was turned into turf last season, so there isn’t much mud. However, practice only legally needs to be cancelled if there is thunder and or lightning spotted. 

And, there is nothing of the sort. So here they are, running around like wet dogs underneath the beat of the weather’s wrath. 

Harry’s eyes scan the play in front of him, and none of his receivers are even remotely open. If this were a real game, he’d be forced to run it himself, but they’re _supposed_ to be practicing passing plays. So what the hell?

He’s going to get sacked in five seconds if he doesn’t get rid of the ball. 

And then, Liam breaks free of his blocker and moves up the field quickly. It’s not his original play route, but, whatever. At least he’s doing what he can to make it work.

Harry doesn’t waste time bringing his arm back. He curls his hand just slightly as he launches his body forward, sending the ball in a lovely spiral down the field. He watches it sail through the air and land almost effortlessly into Liam’s arms.

Liam, who gets tackled almost immediately after catching it, is without a doubt Harry’s best friend. When they were nine years old, they met on the very first day of football practice.

Harry remembers stumbling onto the field, his newly fitted helmet feeling heavy on his head. His mother had fussed over him so much on the car ride to the field, begging him to be safe and to listen to the coaches and to _please_ try not to get hurt.

The first time Harry had gotten tackled, which was thirty minutes into the first practice, he’d lain on his back and whined for a minute. And then, a hand was reaching out for him. He took it, and was brought quickly to his feet.

“Don’t be such a baby about it,” the boy had warned him. “Or the coaches will think you’re a weakling. We’ve gotta be tough in this game, my Pop said so.”

Harry had blinked at him.

“Thank you. I’m Harry.”

“I’m Liam.”

Brought back into the present by the blow of the coach’s whistle, seventeen year old Harry hears that they’re ending practice early tonight, because apparently coach is feeling sympathetic tonight.

Harry yanks his helmet off his head and lets it dangle by his side as he walks off of the field, a few fingers clutching the face mask. His teammates are all stumbling tiredly towards the locker room, practically impervious to the rain at this point. 

His hair is matted up against his forehead in the front, and clinging to his neck in the back. He had prepared for this, though, and sets his helmet down on a metal bench before yanking the hair tie off of his wrist to tie his sopping locks into a tight bun. 

His water bottle is halfway to his lips when he stops moving, spotting a figure walking towards him, and it’s _Louis_ , with a hood over his face and his body wrapped in a jean jacket. Harry can see wet strands of hair poking out from underneath the gray hood, and his ridiculously blue eyes making contact with Harry’s own.

“Louis?” He asks, taking a few steps towards him. And for the first time, he notices the warm styrofoam mug in the other boy’s right hand. 

“I got out of rehearsal early, so my ride isn’t here yet, and, uh,” Louis coughs awkwardly. “I saw you practicing in the rain and thought I’d walk across the street to buy you a hot chocolate.” 

Harry has been sent an actual angel from heaven, he realizes.

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” he murmurs, taking the cup into his freezing hands as Louis offers it. Their cold fingers brush, but only for a small moment. 

Harry takes a sip of the drink, its comforting warmth wrapping him up like a cozy blanket. He watches rain drops splash onto Louis’s cheeks and nose; his eyelashes thick and dark and wet. “You need a ride home?”

“No, no,” Louis shakes his head quickly. “My mom’s on her way already.” 

There’s a silence, the kind that tends to come over two people who aren’t close enough yet to have full conversations. No one else is on the field anymore, they’ve all left, and this vacant football field seems a lot bigger when it’s just the two of them. 

“Oh, alright.” Harry takes another sip of his drink, a small smile crawling it’s way across his cheeks. “You must really like me, if you went through all of this trouble.” He gestures to the drink as they begin to walk towards the school, so they can stand under where the roof juts out. 

“Or maybe I’m just a nice person,” Louis replies with a slight shrug of his shoulders. They make it to the protection of the school, and lean against the dry wall. 

Harry watches Louis, who watches rain patter against the dark pavement and pool into reflective puddles. It’s as if the entire earth is being washed clean. It’s a refreshing rain, the kind that soaks people to the core and soothes their aching hearts.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” Louis speaks up, and Harry so desperately wants to kiss him again; to tell him he’d wait for him for hours, probably. But is it too soon to say that? 

Yeah, definitely. They’re not even together. 

“No, but I will,” he hums back, a bit cold now that he’s no longer exercising the cold away. His pads were keeping him warm, but they’re soggy and chilled now. “Sorry if I smell disgusting.”

“You do, but it’s okay,” Louis tells him, and Harry muffles a laugh at the deadpanned response the other boys gives him.

“When’s opening night?” 

“A month and a half. Little bit before Christmas.”

“How much is my ticket gonna cost me?”

Louis doesn’t answer immediately, just raises a surprised brow at Harry. He shoves both of his hands into his pockets, confused by the question and unsure of how to answer it.

“I don’t.. I didn’t think you were a drama person.”

“I mean. I’m not, really. But I’ve never given it a chance.” 

“Are you giving drama a chance, or are you giving me a chance?” Louis asks, and Harry’s lips curl into a lopsided smile. 

“A little bit of both. Mostly you, though.” When he says it, Louis takes a deep breath and breaks eye contact with him. He looks uncomfortable, and Harry frowns. “Hey, listen. If I’m being too forward, I’m sorry-“

“That’s not it,” Louis mumbles, still focusing on things that aren’t Harry. He immediately misses having Louis’s full attention. “I just… Look, are you actually gay and interested in me, or is this some dumb bet that you can’t convince me to like you or something?”

“Lou, for fuck’s sake, why do you keep trying to convince yourself that I’m not interested in you?” Harry’s rolling his eyes and leaning one shoulder against the school wall. 

“Cause it’s happened to me before and I’m not too keen on having it happen again,” the smaller boy snaps defensively. 

_Oh, good. Now I’m an asshole._

“I’m sorry,” Harry scrubs a frustrated hand across his face. “I wouldn’t do that to you, or anyone, okay? I know you have some ridiculous prejudice against me because I play football, and you think that I’m automatically a douche because of it, but.” His breath cuts off, and he exhales shakily. “I promise that I like you. More than you probably think.”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” Louis replies after a moment of thought. There’s a car pulling into the parking lot, and he watches it approach them. “That’s my mom. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes him. “Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

“No problem.” Louis smiles weakly, and Harry frowns. He leans down to press a soft, but quick kiss to Louis’s cheek. The worry melts off of the other boy’s face almost immediately, and is replaced by pink cheeks. 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

~

It’s eleven at night the next day, and Louis has just climbed out of the shower. He wipes a circle of steam off of the bathroom mirror, and flicks on the fan to help clear out the air. His towel is wrapped tightly around his waist, and he yawns. 

He’s been worrying about a lot of things, lately, like how they’re going to pull off _Julius Caesar_ and how he’s going to manage to keep his grades up when he’s got rehearsal for hours after school nearly every day. Mostly, though, his mind has been flooded with Harry. He’s drowning in questions that he can’t answer.

He sighs at his reflection, but only for a brief moment before he’s picking up his toothbrush and scrubbing his teeth clean.

By the time Louis is changed into fresh clothes and climbing into bed with wet hair and warm toes, wrapped in comfortable socks, he’s picking his phone up from the nightstand beside him. It’s plugged into the charger, and he’s got a few texts.

They’re all from Harry.

**_Harry:_ ** _louis pretty louis_

**_Harry:_ ** _im.. rly drunk_

**_Harry:_ ** _sry if im being annyoign_

**_Harry:_ ** _ur so sweet i jsut like u sm_

Louis chews on his lower lip. His thumbs do a dance in the air above his screen, twirling in circles as he tries to figure out what to say.

**_Louis:_ ** _are you at a party?_

**_Harry:_ ** _yea but its not fun if ur not here.. u are the cutesst_

**_Louis:_ ** _cutest what?_

**_Harry:_ ** _cutest everything. someday ur gonna be my cutest husband in our cutest house with our cutest kids. mayb a dog? idk if u like dogs or cats_

Louis doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. And when he curls up underneath his blankets, he tries to suppress the giddy smile stretching across his face, even though he knows he shouldn’t take anything a drunk Harry says seriously. But maybe he’ll allow himself this one happiness and pretend that Harry had meant it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i'm going to be better about updating. once again, so sorry i took so long to get this out. i've been wrestling with this story's plot for a while now and trying to figure out exactly what i want to do. thanks for all of your patience and support!

**_Harry:_ ** _… u can ignore those extremely embarrassing texts from last night_

**_Louis:_ ** _you mean the ones about us getting married and having children?_

**_Harry:_ ** _ >___> _

**_Louis:_ ** _lol. its fine_

**_Harry:_ ** _ok good. u coming to my game tonight?_

**_Louis:_ ** _i think i’ve seen enough football for a lifetime_

**_Harry:_ ** _…….. you’ve been to two games_

**_Louis:_ ** _yea two too many_

**_Harry:_ ** _pleaaaase louis you’re so pretty_

**_Louis:_ ** _flattery doesn’t work on me harry styles_

**_Harry:_ ** _zayn said it does_

**_Louis:_ ** _ugh. okay, he’s right. i’ll come_

**_Harry:_ ** _:D :D :D :D_

And now here he is, alone in the bleachers and wrapped up in about four layers of clothing. Considering it’s a morning game, there are very few people gathered in the stands. They’re sparse, mostly parents and friends of players. 

Louis doesn’t mind in the least, though - he’d prefer his space over being packed like a sardine. It’s finally cold enough to wear multiple, something he isn’t too happy about. Limited mobility just annoying in every sense. 

Having to take off his gloves every time he wants to use his phone, for example, is reason enough to despise the cold weather wrapping itself around him.

Louis absolutely cannot believe that he dragged his sorry ass out of bed at seven o’clock in the morning on a Saturday to come watch a sport he doesn’t even _like_ because Harry bribed him with compliments.

He hates himself, sometimes.

The snack shack is selling shitty hot chocolate for two dollars, but he bought a cup anyway just to keep himself warm. 

Louis searches the crowd for the possible sighting of a blonde head of hair, but apparently Niall didn’t come to this game. And he’s mildly disappointed, to be honest. The two of them have only just started to become friends, but he’s found that he likes Niall a lot more than he had originally predicted that he would.

His phone rings, it’s Zayn. Louis mutters angrily under his breath as he yanks his right glove off of his hand and answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“What- Lou, you’re awake?”

“Why would you call me if you thought I’d be asleep?”

“I had a thought and I wanted to leave a voicemail before I forgot it.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“No, forget it. It was about my role in the play and I already forgot. Why are you awake?” Zayn does that. As he’s going over his lines, he shoots Louis texts about his realizations about Brutus’s character. Sometimes he calls, if he feels the explanation requires a verbal delivery.

“I’m. Uh. I’m at the football game.”

There’s a pause, and Louis grits his teeth. _Here it comes._

“ _Louis Tomlinson,_ you are _never_ awake this early on a weekend. Is there something you’d like to _tell_ me?” 

“No.” 

“Nothing about _Harry_ -“

“No! We’re friends.”

“I’ve seen everything, then,” Zayn hums, and Louis narrows his eyes, even though his friend can’t see the expression.

“Anyway. I’ll see you at rehearsal tonight. First time off script - you excited?”

“Thrilled,” Zayn drawls, in his most monotone voice manageable. They hang up, and Louis stuffs his cell phone into his pocket before sliding his glove back onto his cold and pale palm. 

The game is actually sort of exciting, and Harry is doing really well (Louis later learns it’s because there were college scouts watching him at this one). The cold is soon forgotten when they score their first touchdown, and the bleachers roar with the stomping feet of happy onlookers.

They win, as they often do, and Louis makes his way down the metallic steps in between rows of stands. Little kids around him are chattering to their parents about how well their older siblings did; mothers clutching their chests and talking a mile a minute to their friends about their sons on the field.

Harry is jogging towards Louis on the sidelines, and they meet where the white line divides the playing field from what is considered offsides. 

“You came,” he breathes, drenched in sweat and grinning from ear to ear. He looks so surprised that Louis feels a little bad. Does he really come off as that disinterested?

“Of course I did,” he replies earnestly. Harry leans in, eyes closed and head tilting quickly. But before their lips touch, someone calls his name and the curly haired boy looks up, towards the locker room.

“It’s Liam,” he explains, as if ‘Liam’ is a valid excuse for leaving a potential kiss. Louis only raises an eyebrow, and Harry shifts his weight from one hip to the other. His smile is still there. “Hold that thought for me, will you?”

“What thought? Neither of us was talking.”

“I’m trying to be cute. Go along with me, for _once_.” 

Louis only rolls his eyes and nods. Harry jogs away from him, but not before promising to be back in a few minutes. 

And so Louis finds an empty bench on the sideline, and plants himself on it. It feels cold, even through the fabric of his pants. His hot chocolate is nearly empty, but the closest garbage can is by the parking lot and he isn’t feeling too up to moving right now.

He watches Harry have his conversation, too far away to hear. He’s shifting from one hip to the other, pinching his lip between his fingers and smiling here and there. Liam, Harry’s friend, is talking with his hands and patting Harry on the shoulder. While all of this is happening, Louis feels his fingers getting tighter around his hot chocolate as he tries to ignore just how endearing Harry is in everything he does.

When the curly haired boy returns, he’s smiling, but more softly this time. It’s like he has a different smile for everyone he knows - customized versions of his happy face. 

Louis likes Harry’s smile for him the most. It’s gentler than his more exuberant smiles; but still cheerful. It’s an intimate kind of grin; the kind that shuts out the rest of the world and pulls the breath from Louis’s core.

_Whoa. Those are the words of a lover, not an impartial friend._

“Sorry about that. Team stuff. Anyway, do you wanna go out and get some pancakes? It’s still only ten, after all.” 

Louis puts a finger to his lip, as if he’s contemplating it, and Harry rolls his eyes so theatrically that they both loosen into laughter.

“Sounds good. I don’t have a car, though.”

“I do. If you’re willing to wait, like, five seconds, I just need to shower and change inside.” Harry points his thumb towards the locker room, and Louis nods as he watches the other boy leave. 

There is a warmth that fills his chest when Harry is around. Not an all-encompassing wrath of emotion, but something comfortable. And maybe, he’s okay with it.

~

Rehearsal is running late because the director is in a particularly moody state of mind. He can’t help but pick apart every single line, every _word,_ and they’re all pretty frustrated at this point. Louis is starting to agree with Zayn when he says that doing Shakespeare in High School may have been a bad idea.

They’re off script now, and it’s becoming pretty clear who’s been studying their lines at home, and who hasn’t. Louis definitely has, but he wouldn’t have the lead role if he wasn’t known for his preparedness. 

Every night, he sits down in front of his television with a hot chocolate and his script. He reads the words aloud, over and over until he’s chewed them up, digested them, and he could recite them both forwards and backwards.

“Listen, Cassie, you can’t just blink a lot and stare into the distance and think that distracts us from the fact that you don’t know your lines. And Zayn, some more emphasis, please. Do I need to beat you over the head with it? Cause I feel like I already have.”

Zayn grits his teeth and recites his words again. It’s beautifully done, and even their nitpick-y teacher has to give credit where credit is due. “Let’s end on a high note tonight. You’re all dismissed,” he finally announces, and the entire room seems to exhale. 

Louis can only pray that opening night won’t be a catastrophe. He can’t be in a bad mood for more than a few minutes, though, because he remembers that Harry offered to drive him home tonight. 

By the time he makes it outside of the auditorium, he’s got his jacket on and his backpack straps over his shoulders. Surely enough, the curly haired boy is waiting for him with keys in one hand and a cupcake in another.

“What’s this?” Louis asks, nodding to the pastry, and Harry shrugs.

“You guys ran a little late so I thought I’d go pick you up something. I could hear the director from out here, and it didn’t sound like a fun time in there.” 

Louis grins at the statement, and takes the cupcake. 

“Red velvet? You did well,” He nods slowly. “We can share it.”

“I actually got one for me too, but I ate it already,” Harry tells him, as they start to walk towards the front doors of the school building. “So it’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, less jokingly and more seriously this time. “You’re sweet.”

“I know,” Harry beams, and Louis stops walking to kiss his cheek.

They make it to the car in due time, and as Louis is silently buckling himself into Harry’s passenger seat (and licking the remains of the cream cheese frosting off his fingers), he’s flooded with a new round of thought.

The thing here is, is that he’s very clueless as to what he’s doing. He’s never been in a relationship before (not including his two week romance with Sarah Tucker in the first grade), and this entire situation is out of his element. 

Harry’s popularity alone is out of his element, actually.

Louis hadn’t even been too desperate for someone, either. His entire life had been wrapped around the concept of studying drama, and most other things took a backseat. But now, things are changing and he’s starting to feel a warmth for Harry that he usually only feels after finishing great performances.

But they’re not a _thing._ They are something, but not a _thing_ , and that’s okay with him. Maybe. To take it slow is breathable, and to deny himself hope is comfortable.

Louis can’t afford to tell himself that Harry genuinely likes him. It’s easier for him to pretend that the other boy is only seeking his friendship, because then the panic can’t creep up on his throat and suffocate him.

They pass under streetlights that illuminate the inside of the car, and Louis is blinking slowly. He could fall asleep like this, listening to some soft voice purring from Harry’s car radio alongside the engine. 

But he won’t, and he doesn’t. 

That’s another thing. He can so easily see himself with Harry, doing everyday activities like driving home. But maybe in his imagination, they’re holding hands from across the middle, or they’re humming along to the song on the radio together.

He can see himself leaning up on the tips of his toes to kiss Harry. He can see them listening to each other’s problems and curling up on couches at night to watch movies they’ve never heard of. 

There are times when such thoughts terrify him to his core, and there are times when they make him feel so soft and at peace that he could drift away on a cloud of happiness. There are times when the two sensations mix into one cluster of confusion and he has no idea what to think. What to feel.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Harry notes. “A first for you.”

“Excuse me,” Louis huffs, a smug smirk forming on his face. “How dare you.”

Harry laughs, a nice break from the silence they’d encapsulated themselves in. He turns onto Louis’s street and slows the car down now that he’s in a residential neighborhood. 

They pull into the Tomlinson driveway after passing a few similarly structured houses, and Harry pulls the keys from the ignition. The two sit there for a moment, unmoving and breathing quietly.

“Thanks,” Louis says again, but he feels as though Harry’s unnecessary kindness deserves a thousand acknowledgements.

“Really, it’s fine,” Harry promises him. “Thank you for accompanying me on my right home.” 

“I didn’t say much.”

“Your presence is enough.” They leave the car, and guided by the walkway lights, make it to the front door. The porch light is on, and Louis climbs the steps. He hears Harry walking up behind him.

They turn to face each other, and Louis takes a deep breath. It’s awkward, now.

“Well. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Louis is afraid that Harry will try to kiss him again, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for that, so he quickly puts his key into the lock and opens the door. He waves once more, and steps inside it.

When Harry’s no longer in sight, his mind is still clouded with thoughts of him.

~

Harry leans against the railway on the porch, defeated and embarrassed. Louis really didn’t want to kiss him. Perhaps he’s been reading further into this than he should be?

Maybe Louis doesn’t like him, maybe he just likes free rides home and cupcakes. Because who wouldn’t?

His train of thought comes to an abrupt halt when the door opens again. But it isn’t Louis this time. It’s a little blonde girl in pajama pants and a pink t-shirt, and she’s smiling happily up at him, as if they’ve been friends for years. 

He raises a curious brow at her, and she giggles. Before she speaks, an identical copy of her appears beside the other little girl in the doorway. Twins, then.

“I’m Daisy,” the original girl chirps. “And this is Pheobe. Come in!” They beckon him into the house, and Harry is hesitant at first. “Please? We’re doing dishes tonight and we need help.” 

Harry smiles widely. It makes sense now.

They’re roping him into doing their chores. Yeah, he can do that.

~

Louis is whistling as he steps out of the shower and rubs his towel through his damp hair. He pats it against the back of his neck before wrapping it around his waist and continuing on with his usual night time routine.

By the time he’s in his sweats and he’s taken his contacts out, his glasses are on his nose and he’s tiredly stumbling down the steps to look for a snack before bread. Preferably something sweet, but he’ll decide when he gets down there.

A commotion coming from downstairs catches his attention as he makes it to the bottom of the steps, rounding the corner and entering the kitchen.

Surely enough, there’s Harry with his back turned to Louis, laughing with Daisy and Pheebs as the two little girls sit on the counter and watch him do the dishes. _Their_ dishes. What on Earth?

“Pardon me,” he clears his throat, and his sisters both snap to look at him with wide eyes and mischievous smirks. He’d kill them if they weren’t so cute. Harry half-way turns around, sponge in hand and a soapy plate in the other. 

“It seems your sisters needed some help.” Harry is blushing, _blushing_. He turns the sink off and turns around. All three of them look like they’re about to be reprimanded. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Louis steps forward slowly, just now remembering he’s in pajamas with wet hair and glasses. Well, as if that isn’t embarrassing. “These two bamboozled you into doing their chores? Cause rest assured, Harry, they know how to wash dishes. And it’s their night.”

Harry pretends to be surprised, and mock gasps. He drops the sponge and clutches at his heart. 

“I cannot believe it,” his eyes are wide. The girls laugh with him.

“Seriously, though,” Louis speaks up again. “Letting a stranger into the house just because he’s at the door? Who thought this was a good idea?”

“He’s not a stranger,” Pheobe pipes up. “He’s your friend.”

“Yes, but you couldn’t have known-“

“We watched you from the window,” Daisy replies, and Louis’s cheeks turn a slightly brighter shade of pink.

“What- you nosy little-“ They hop down from the counter and run into the living room, squealing the entire way. When they’re gone, but can still be heard giggling from the other room, Louis walks Harry to the foyer.

“Thanks,” he says, for about the millionth time tonight, as he opens the door. “For humoring them.” He leans his shoulder against it as Harry steps outside.

Harry only smiles back at him, and leans in to peck his mouth before turning around and hopping down the steps.


End file.
